


Starved

by ticktockclockwork



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Disabled Kent, Discussions of sex, Injury, M/M, PA Bitty, POV Kent Parson, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ticktockclockwork/pseuds/ticktockclockwork
Summary: ‘Early retirement’ wasn't a phrase Kent had ever expected to use in regards to himself and yet here he was, just ten years into his career and releasing a statement with those exact words. Other parts of the press release included 'best interest’ and 'true asset’ but the ones that were the worst to read were those first two.Early retirement.Fuck him.---Kent suffers a career ending injury in a game against the Caps, forcing him to hang up his jersey for good. Now he must learn to cope with the loss of his past life and decide what to make of himself without hockey to define him. Lucky for him, help can be found in unexpected places.---Note: tags are explained in the authors notes at the end for anyone worried about being triggered. Everything is fairly light but if anyone feels I missed anything, please let me know and I'll tag it properly!





	Starved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eden22](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/gifts).



‘Early retirement’ wasn't a phrase Kent had ever expected to use in regards to himself and yet here he was, just ten years into his career and releasing a statement with those exact words. Other parts of the press release included 'best interest’ and 'true asset’ but the ones that were the worst to read were those first two.

Early retirement.

Fuck him.

“Think of all the soaps you can keep up with now.”

Kent looked up to Sioban, his social media guru, leveling her a look that clearly meant he was unimpressed. That look had become his daily facial expression ever since he'd been released from the hospital and forced to face the reality of his situation.

“Or all the cats you can totally adopt now that you aren't burdened with all the travelling.” she tried again, her face twisting just a flick when they both recognized that she'd used that one before. If she was already cycling through her optimistic condolences, then there really wasn't hope for much else.

“I'm fine Sioban. Seriously. You don't have to try and cheer me up.” He crossed his arms a bit tighter across his chest, able to feel his shoulders hitching up closer to his ears. He wanted to relax, wanted to look nonchalant, but the fact that he wasn't breaking something right now was impressive enough. They both knew it. Sioban was kind of thankful as she was fond of the mug she'd given him when she’d gotten them both tea.

Today they'd released Kent's official announcement. He was retiring from the Aces due to injury. He would recover but was no longer able to play. After ten years, three Stanley cups, and countless awards, Kent Parson was hanging up his jersey. He was thirty years old and he was _retired_.

Seriously, fuck him.

The injury hadn't seemed bad on the surface. Or, he should say, it hadn't _looked_ bad. They were partway through the playoffs, battling on enemy ice against the Caps. While chasing down one of their forwards, a defenseman, Dvorak, tripped him with his stick. He'd fallen forward, tangled up with their forward before the both of them slammed into the wall. His leg had been pinned under the other so he couldn't get it out of the way before they'd collided into the wall and while he didn't feel it snap, he sure as fuck heard it. The tapes showed him screaming but he doesn't really remember that either. What he does remember is being stretchered off the ice and getting understandably pissed off when Dvorak only got a two minute penalty. The defenseman ruins Kent's life and he gets a two minute penalty.

After that he remembers people, doctors, an ambulance, passing out, then waking up only long enough to be put back under. He was in surgery for long enough that people got scared and when he came out he had more metal in his leg than he had going in. By like, a lot. He'd had a nasty open fracture of the tibia wherein it broke and fucking _came out_. He had nerve and tissue damage from where the bone had broken through his musculature but they'd been able to reset it, clean out any bone fragments, and sew him back up. They seemed to think his surgery was a success, as if the debilitating and career ending injury could have somehow gone worse.

He'd been put on medication for the pain management and then anxiety meds when the pain meds sent him into a panic. No matter how many times he reminded the doctors he had a history of substance abuse, they insisted. And he knew they were right but the fear of relapsing had burrowed a hole in his chest so deep that he constantly considered living through the pain instead of the running the risk.

Therapy sessions were daily. Sometimes they went on for hours and sometimes he couldn't speak at all. When he could walk he started PT. It took months, through the summer and fall, and though he was mobile, he wasn’t allowed back on the ice. Not in any official capacity. He was still on the roster and he'd still show up to Aces home games, but he wasn't much of a captain anymore and when it was clear he wasn't going to be playing that season, he'd 'stepped down’ so Burkowsky could be given the C.

He hadn't been the one to suggest it.

But it had been expected.

It wasn't long after that that he was pressured to admit defeat and call retirement. Management tried to make him believe it was his own idea, but he knew the long and short of it was he was off the team one way or another. Either he saved face and owned it, or they made the decision for him. He tried really hard not to be bitter about it, the Aces had always been good to him, but it was a struggle. Salt to the wound, basically. It forced him to acknowledge that he was defunct. He wouldn't be playing again anytime soon, if at all, and if he did, it would never be professionally. And no matter how supportive his team had been for him in the past, they were still a business and he wouldn't be making money for them anymore.

So he’d let Sioban write up his retirement announcement and he'd let her post it on his various social media accounts and he'd let the Aces management post it to their website and he'd let his NHL career end with a few thousand words.

He was so tired.

“Can I go home and wallow now? Or is there something else I have to pretend I'm cool with tonight?” He asked when his shoulders unclenched and sagged. He wanted to go home and cry. Or swallow a handful of pills and let this all fade away. He wasn't sure which yet.

Yes he did, but he left the second option there because options were good.

Sioban looked sad but shook her head, turning her phone round and round in her hands. “No, there's nothing else we need to do tonight. I think Keith will have some paperwork you'll need to sign but we can do that when you're ready.”

Kent knew the management team was anxiously waiting to officially knock him off the books but were being 'understanding’ and letting him put it off. Keith was the poor bastard who had to do the dirty work and he'd been avoiding them for a few weeks now. He knew he wouldn't be allowed to for much longer now that he'd finally announced his retirement but he'd continue to do so for as long as he could.

“Do you want me to handle your twitter and stuff for now?” Kent had always affectionately referred to Sioban as his 'handler’ when it came to his social media presence. She'd been wonderful in giving him enough space to still have a personality online but always knew when to take away his phone or screen his posts.

He understood that she was offering to do the same now and that he should be grateful but he also found he couldn't give a fuck about his accounts anymore. He had no desire to talk to anyone, especially shitheads on the internet so he gave Sioban a look, grabbed his cane, and pushed himself into a standing position. “Just do what you think is best.” He muttered, pulling out his phone to call for a ride back to his place.

  


_X_

  


“His name is Eric Bittle.”

Kent looked up for the first time in that conversation. He'd missed the majority of it intentionally, zoning out after the first ten minutes of his therapist talking to him. He knew it was a waste of a session, but the routine was what was important. At least that's what Yvonne assured him. The routine was what mattered more sometimes, just the act of showing up trumping his inability to express how he felt. She was pretty good at determining the differences in his silences, when he needed his sessions filled with her voice and others when he just needed nothing.

Today was not a nothing day. He _felt_ nothing and he _had_ nothing to talk about but he was still present and so she chattered. She talked about his progress, about her conversations with his medical doctors, about her confidence in him and his ability to overcome this. Some sessions he wished she'd just talk about her own fucking family for once, or her own life, instead of the trash pile of his own, but he understood that she kept herself out of it on purpose. And ultimately he appreciated it, even when he was being a shit. The fact that he could feel a connection with her without the need to, basically, know anything about her made their sessions much easier to manage. It felt selfish at times but he needed her to be a human void for him, into which he could chuck his broken pieces and out of which sometimes returned stars. If he saw her as a person with a family and a life outside of this room he's not sure he'd be able to be as honest or open with her as he was able to be now.

That wasn't to say he saw her as _not_ a person. She was, he'd seen her upset, he'd _made_ her upset. He knew her and loved her and appreciated her for the person she was. But in her office, when it was just the two of them, her job was to be a buffer between Kent and himself. And she was awesome at it.

While she chattered, Kent drifted and it wasn't until she said that name - Eric Bittle - that he tuned back in. Mostly because it was familiar though in his current state, he couldn't connect the dots. He also couldn't figured out why she was bringing him up.

“Who?”

“Eric Bittle.” she repeated, patient. She always gave him time to come back when he'd mentally wandered off. “He's a PA.” The confusion must have been apparent on his face. “Stands for personal assistant.”

While that cleared up what a PA was (which, frankly, Kent already knew that but it felt so out of context that his brain hadn't supplied that) it did not explain why she was talking about one. “Is he your new secretary or something?” He asked and she chuckled, shaking her head.

“No.” Her pause caused his stomach to drop as he anticipated what she was leading up to. “I want you to meet him, Kent.”

Before he could stop it, his teeth were grinding, the muscles in his jaw jumping and his teeth nearly clacking together as he bit down hard. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth and he knew she noticed though she didn't remark, nor did she back down. She just waited patiently for him to get that under control.

“I-” he had to wrench his mouth open to speak clearly. “I don't need a personal assistant.” She shrugged a shoulder as if to say she disagreed. It aggravated him when she did that. It aggravated him now. “No, seriously. If you haven't noticed, I don't fucking have a life anymore? So it doesn't need a goddamn PA.” God, he was being an asshole. He didn't _want_ to be but sometimes it was hard to keep that under control. It was just that something about this sent his heart rate jumping, fearful at the insinuation that he needed _assisting_.

“He's not just a PA, though that's his main title. He’s trained as an emotional aid.” His heart rate picked up again because that was _so much worse_. “He works with victims of trauma, people who are overcoming a life threatening illness, people whose lives are difficult to manage both daily and…” she searched for the right word. “emotionally.”

No. No, no thank you, nope, Kent Parson didn't need a fucking care bear companion just because his life was in shambles. It was pathetic enough as it was, he didn't need some fucking kid (was he a kid? He knew nothing about him but the name screamed kid to him) coming in and getting a front row seat to the horror show he called his life. He was fine crashing and burning in solitary without the eyes of some stranger watching it all go down.

Yvonne could clearly see the resistance without him needing to vocalize it because she held up her hand to make him pause. “I am only asking you to meet him, Kent. I have not hired him and you are under no obligation to agree to anything. I would just like for you to meet him.”

“Why? Just so I can put on a show? So we can examine how fucking terrible I am at handling all this and laugh about it? I'm a big boy, Yvonne. I can make my own meals, and plan my own fucking day all on my own.”

“I know. But you shouldn't have to.”

“Excuse me?”

Her steady look shook him because the pause made her words register and he didn't like their implication. “You shouldn't have to, Kent. We both know you are a grown man and that you are _completely capable_ of managing your life. But… you also don't need to right now.” She closed her notepad and set it aside, her hands opening in her lap like some kind of offering. “I feel like you haven't let yourself… grieve, for yourself. I feel like everything has been moving so quickly - the surgery, the physical therapy, the forced retirement, etcetera etcetera - that in all the bustle of getting to _now_ , you've completely skipped the part of your recovery where you just… hurt for awhile.”

He didn't know what to say. They'd discussed this, in pieces, how it was okay to be upset, how it hadn't actually been his choice to retire and that he shouldn't blame himself for anything that was happening. But they'd always tip-toed around the main problem which was exactly that:  Kent had been avoiding the hardest part of his recovery - the acknowledgement and acceptance that he would likely never play hockey professionally again. If any hockey at all.

“Listen.” She leaned forward into his space enough to keep him focused on her but not enough to crowd him. “Everyone is looking to you right now to be okay. The media wants you to be happy, the Aces want you to smile, your family wants you to get better, your doctor's want you to improve. Everyone is shining a spotlight in your face asking you how great it is to be retired when the long and short of it is that it's miserable because it wasn't your choice and it's come with an unfathomable cost. And the real burn is you're not allowed to say any of that because this was all supposed to be your idea.” Kent felt his eyes welling up and he looked away as the tears fell down his cheeks to gather on his chin.

“So what I think is happening - and correct me if I'm wrong - is that you're trying to continue as normal. You're keeping to your schedule, you're sticking to your nutrition regime as much as before, you're going to physical therapy, and you're doing press, and you're getting your photo taken constantly and you're just… continuing. But if you took all that away, if you took away the… pressure, that I know you're feeling, that pressure to perform? Do you really think you'd do any of that by choice?”

She waited again and it took him awhile but he finally shook his head, sniffing loudly and wiping at his eyes. He couldn't look at her because the truth of it was that if he'd really, _really_ been given the choice, he'd go home right now, close his eyes, and stop existing. If everyone stopped asking things from him, he'd want nothing more than to disappear into the dust under his cabinets.

“Yeah, I don't think you would either.” Her voice was soft, so much quieter than the ragged gasping noise he made as he sucked in air, the tears uncontrollable now as he covered his eyes with his hands. She let him cry, making sure he knew she was there but not touching him, not invading his space. Everyone touched him now, a fact he'd told her about in one of their first sessions. Doctors, family members, teammates, the coaches. They all touched him in an effort to comfort him but all it did was make his skin crawl, a reminder that the thing they were touching was broken, worthless.

So she stood, her leather chair creaking, and went to get him a glass of water. She set it on the table in front of him, then got him some tissues for his face. She made noise, but didn't speak, and he was thankful for her even more. He needed time to compose himself and even then when he looked up he was still crying. But the worst of the sobbing had stopped.

“Eric would give you the freedom to not perform for a little while. He could manage as little or as much as you wanted. At minimum he could help you manage and maintain your schedule. He really is an excellent personal assistant. He's been recommended by a lot of people I know. So at the very least he can just help you manage all your appointments and obligations, take that burden off your shoulders.”

“And… beyond the minimum?”

“Well. He's an excellent cook, so he could manage your meals for you. And he's wonderful in social media so you wouldn't keep getting Sioban breathing down your neck for yet another statement. And he's worked with professional sports teams before so he could field anything management still has for you.” All that sounded great but they both knew what it really was he wanted to know about. They both also knew that she was purposefully making Kent ask it, to voice his real fear.

“And the emotional aid? What does that entail?”

She shrugged but it was a different shrug than the first. “It's whatever you need it to be. Which, I understand, is an unsatisfactory answer but it truly changes from person to person. One of his clients just needed someone to talk to. They had no family, and they felt like a burden to their friends so they talked to him. Another client just needed someone who would accompany them to their chemo treatments because they lived too far away from their relatives. You would work out what your needs are with him, and figure out what it is he can provide. But I've met him Kent, and I can assure you that at the very least he's just a very comforting person to be around.”

He had nothing to say to that because the idea still made him panic, that he might need someone to help him with his basic day to day functionalities. But quietly, beneath his thudding heartbeat, something ached to just have the responsibility lifted off his shoulders. Yvonne was telling him it was okay to break apart because there was someone she knew who could allow him to do that and his stomach ached at the idea that he could be given that.

Was that really a possibility? Was there truly a chance that for one fucking minute he could stop pretending everything was alright and just admit, just accept that things were a nightmare? He wanted that, so much more than he could admit that just the hope that he could let go of it all nearly destroyed him. His ribs hurt from holding in his desire, from keeping the begging, pleading, broken man within him silent as he looked anywhere but at Yvonne.

“His name is Eric?” He asked, voice weak, eyes still wet.

“Correct. Eric Bittle.” A pause, a beat, and then. “Would you like to meet him?”

“... Yeah, I think I do.”

  


_X_

  


The real irony of the situation was that Kent had already met Eric before. It was why his name had sounded familiar, why the anxiety at meeting him felt just a touch worse than it normally would. It had been years and years now, when Kent had been at another low point in his life - and fuck man, how many low points did he have to suffer through before things went alright for once? - and though he doesn't remember the _entirety_ of their interactions, he does remember it being pretty not great.

He'd been yelling at Jack the last time he had seen the kid (and really, he was a kid, was he even old enough to be qualified for this?) And he thinks there's a photo somewhere of the two of them together, but it doesn't go much further than that. But this Six Degrees to Kevin Bacon bullshit certainly didn't help. Eric knew Jack, and Kent didn't doubt that Jack would have told someone _something_ about him. And there really wasn't anything good to tell so, basically, there was no scenario where Eric had a good impression of him.

And yet.

When Eric was brought into Yvonne's office, he was smiling and friendly, approaching Kent and holding out his hand for a firm, though polite, handshake. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, crinkling the fabric of his buttoned up shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to keep things casual, though his hair was neat and his pants were pressed.

Kent hated him.

Or at least he really wanted to. He wanted to hate him because of why he was here. He wanted to hate him because they'd met in the past, when he could still play. He wanted to hate him because Eric clearly had to feel the same way and Kent wanted to beat him to the punch. But most of all he wanted to hate him because his demeanor was as described, warm and comfortable.

“It's nice to meet you Mr. Parson.” Eric greeted, hesitating only a touch over his name, inviting him to correct him if he wanted to.

He did. “Just Kent.”

“Alright. Kent.” He set his bag down and sat on the couch across from him, next to Yvonne. Kent suddenly had the image of a firing squad in his mind and he had to resist the urge to wish it were true. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” When Kent didn't make any other reply beyond a tip of his head, Eric glanced to Yvonne then continued.

“Yvonne spoke to me a bit about how my services might be of assistance, but I wanted to take this time to just… let you ask any questions that you might have for me? Give you a chance to get to know me a bit, see if you'd even be interested in what I can offer.”

“I'm not.”

Eric paused mid sentence and blinked, glancing to Yvonne again then back to Kent. “Uh-.. uhm, excuse me?” He asked, unsure.

“I said I'm not. Interested that is. In whatever you're selling.” That was a lie. He'd agreed to this. But sobbing, wrecked Kent was so last week. Right now Yvonne had biting, asshole Kent instead.

Eric watched him and he shifted in his seat only a little uncomfortably before he had to look away from the other's stare. “Ah. That's unfortunate.” He set his hands - small, light, they looked soft - in his lap and let out a sigh. “But, no harm done.” And the smile was back, capturing Kent's gaze, forcing him to look over to him with barely restrained surprise. “Since I'm here anyways, do you wanna ask me any questions? Otherwise I can go ahead and get out of your hair.” The accent caught around his tongue, pressed from the back of his mouth, controlled but not entirely out of sight.

The silence that stretched was a clear indication to Kent's true interest in Bitty's expertise but he was feeling stubborn today so he made them wait as he picked at his nails. He had questions -tons of questions, top of which was could you make everything just _stop_ \- but he didn't want to appear desperate. Or invested. Or wanting. Aloof worked for him, it suited his current situation, and so they sat in silence.

Right as Yvonne was about to speak up, her position on the couch starting to hedge towards irritated, Kent asked the first safe question he could think of. “I hear you can cook?”

“Oh!” He was surprised, clearly having expected something else. Maybe Kent should be asking about what it means to be an emotional aid, or about how much Yvonne told him. But he didn't want to think about that right now, didn't want to think about this meeting as anything beyond two strangers talking.

“Yes, though I'm no professional, not really. I hear I make a mean chicken cacciatore.” Another smile, this one more genuine than the first. “But what I really enjoy is baking. I've been doing it since I was a little one with my mama, rolling dough or cutting out cookies. I think my greatest strength lies in pie making but I'm really fairly good overall. I love taking basic recipes and jazzing them up, maybe with different ingredients, or some extra something, you know? Just to make it interesting. It's my great comfort. For a long time I considered opening a bakery but I didn't want to take the fun out of it so I just do it as a hobby now. That don't mean I don't take it seriously mind you, it's just that-” he stopped, seemingly realizing how much he'd been talking. “Oh just listen to me, rambling on like a loon. I'm sorry, Kent.”

Funny enough, Kent felt like he could listen to Eric talk like that for hours. Maybe it was the accent, or the unselfconscious emotion behind his words, but the longer he chattered on, the more the knots in Kent's back loosened. He felt himself relaxing under that warm southern voice and when it stopped, he had to catch himself from making a disagreeable sound at it's loss.

“It's. It's okay, I don't, uhm. I didn't mind.” He was having trouble gathering his thoughts. The maelstrom of questions and fears had settled, leaving him feeling a bit unsure of what to ask next. He was saved when Yvonne's phone went off.

It buzzed across the top of the table where she had set it and she glanced to the screen with a frown. “Oh, I'm so sorry Kent, I have to take this.” she looked apologetic but he waved her off. It wouldn't be the first time one of her sessions was interrupted by an emergency. He would have minded more if he hadn't _been_ of those emergencies before in the past.

Her absences doused the room in silence and Kent shifted a bit uncomfortably in his chair, not meeting Eric's eyes, though he could feel the other watching him. Some of the calm was siphoning away under his pleasant scrutiny and he desperately wished to fill the silence. He got to thinking about the elephant in the room, the one thing that Eric hadn't brought up: that they knew each other.

Though, to be fair, Kent was being generous with that description. They didn't really _know_ know each other. They’d just met before, but Kent remembers him and the more he thinks about it the more he thinks he'd probably seen him in photos with Jack during Jack's time at Samwell. He never followed that team much but he'd been pretty obsessed with Zimms back then so Bitty was in his memories, on the periphery, and though it was minor, that simple fact of their connection was eating away at his silence.

“So, are we just gonna keep pretending or should we talk about it?” He finally spoke up, kicking out his legs and trying to lean back in the most relaxed non-relaxed position he could manage. He wanted to come off as cool and collected, not like a physically disabled ex-pro athlete who was incredibly agitated right now.

To Bitty's credit, he didn't bother to pretend that he didn't know what Kent was talking about. “I was leaving that decision up to you.” He admitted, rubbing the side of his neck then dropping his hands in his lap. “To be honest, I actually didn't think you'd remember me.”

“To be honest, I only kind of do.”

“That's fair. It was a long time ago. And you had other things going on.”

Kent nodded his head, eyes still cast away from Eric's face. “So isn't that like… a conflict of interest or something?” Now he did look over, but only for a moment, just enough to catch Eric shrugging his shoulders again.

“Not really. I'm not employed by anyone that could be problematic if I was also working for you. Whatever small history we share would really only factor into whether you want to hire me for my services or not. It it makes you uncomfortable, that we've met before, then I totally understand. But for the record, it doesn't bother me. And also for the record, I don't judge you for what happened in the past. I don't know the whole story, and you don't owe me one. If that makes you feel any better.”

It did, though he didn't say as much. It had been a fear of his that he hadn't recognized. The idea that Eric might only have one image in his mind of who Kent was? Especially _that_ image, a particularly terrible image. Well that twisted something up inside Kent. He didn't entirely trust that Eric didn't hold some judgement against him, but hearing him say it helped soothe it a little. He did wonder though…

“Did Jack never…?”

“Talk about you? He did, a little.”

“... What did he say?” The question was small and Kent found he couldn't look away from his fingers twisting themselves up in his lap.

“He said you both were young.” Eric broached carefully, clearly weighing his words in a way Kent appreciated. If he'd immediately gushed about all the stories Jack had told, Kent would have to wonder how discreet he would be if he worked for Kent. Eric spoke with measured control, hesitant to divulge too much. When Kent looked up he could tell the subject wasn't an entirely comfortable one for the other either. “And that your… friendship kind of… petered out when you got drafted and he didn't.”

Kent snorted and pressed his fingers to his eyes. “Just friendship, huh? Fucking figures…”

“... Among other things. Not just friendship...” When Kent looked up, it was Eric who had averted his eyes. “He’s a bit of a heartbreaker ain't he?” Bitty laughed just a little, more a sharp exhale through tight teeth but he met Kent's eyes anyways.

“How long?” When had they started whispering?

“Few years back now. It was hard… I don't really like to talk about it.”

Probably because he's still not out yet. He literally _can't_ talk about it. The thought caused a flash of something ugly to streak through Kent, something that tasted a lot like resentment.

“Don't do that.” Eric chastised even quieter, reaching his hand forward to just barely graze the back of Kent's. “It ain't nobody's business but his and mine and it's behind me now. There's no use getting upset on my behalf.” He patted Kent's hand then withdrew it, looking up just as the door clicked open and Yvonne stepped back in.

“So sorry about that boys, it was an emergency.” She looked a little more frazzled than she had when she left but Kent didn't hold it against her. And their session was wrapping up anyways. “We're you able to ask Eric the questions you needed answered Kent?” She asked as she lifted her pad to flip through her notes.

When he met Eric's eyes briefly, he could already feel the kernel of trust that had grown between them, their shared experience, their small history with one another allowing a bridge to form. Kent didn't want to admit it, but he liked the other man. He did indeed feel comfortable in his presence and a part of him felt safe with him, safe that Eric wouldn't judge the uglier side of him too harshly, and that he would be kind to his reputation even if Kent wasn't kind in return. Eric's treatment of Jack showed well to his character and Kent found himself struggling to grasp at the defensiveness he was feeling at the start of the session.

“Yeah, uhm. Yes, I didn't have that many but yeah. And uhm. I'll, uh, think about it. I don't know yet. Is that okay?”

“Of course Kent.” Eric assured him, smiling. “I'm here to assist you in whatever way I can. I don't take any offense if you don’t want to hire me.” Kent did want to hire him, he very much did, but he was scared to voice that yet, needed time to chew it over. “What I'll do is leave my card either with you or with Yvonne, whichever, and if you ever want to chat some more, my phone is always open.” He dug into his bag and pulled out a few, leaving them in the neutral territory of the coffee table before standing and shouldering his bag once again. “It was a pleasure, Kent. Thank you for meeting with me.” They shook hands as if they were professionals and after a quick goodbye with Yvonne he was out of the office.

“So what did you think?” Yvonne asked after a few moments of quiet.

What did he think? He thought that he didn't need Eric's help because he wasn't an invalid. He thought that he wouldn't be able to let go of the fear that Eric would always judge him for how he'd acted at that party. He thought he would explode without knowing all of Eric's relationship with Jack. He thought if he didn't explode he'd shrivel up from jealousy because clearly Eric had something that Kent wasn't allowed even near anymore.

He thought that Eric made him feel a little bit safe. He thought it might be nice to have someone around, even if they were just there to talk to. He thought it was pathetic that he had to basically hire someone to be his friend. He thought it was pathetic that he wasn't as bothered by that as he should be.

He thought a lot of different things but what he said instead was “I think I want to go home now. I need to think about it.” And so he wrapped up their session, said his goodbyes, scheduled his next appointment, and went home.

 

_X_

 

It took Kent less time than he'd expected to call Eric but he’d also been having a spectacularly bad day. Less than three days had passed since their session and Kent had been fighting with himself over whether he wanted Eric's help or not. He'd staunchly convinced himself that he didn't _need_ it and so now it was whether he wanted it or not and for the past few mornings the answer was no.

This morning, though, he wanted nothing more than for someone else to come take care of him, or at the very least, his problems. PT the day before had been miserable with his trainer upping his regime to keep his mobility up to par. They'd done a full physical, just routine, but he'd lost significant weight since he wasn't able to train and it had fucked something up in his head. He knew, as an athlete, that his relationship with his body was a complicated one at best. But he hadn't realized what it would feel like to suddenly not be at his prime.

It wasn't a vanity thing, Kent had always had the passing knowledge that he was attractive by your basic standards. But it was a utility thing. Even if he wasn't crippled by his injury, at this weight he wouldn't be able to play anyways. He was lower than he ever was in off season, softer, slower, weaker. He panicked thinking about how much work he'd have to do to get back into shape, how much time he was losing by not being able to keep up with his old routine.

And he knew, he _knew_ that this wasn't the reason he would be unable to play. But some mornings he woke up and forgot about his leg and some mornings he couldn't shake the hope that maybe one day, _maybe one day_ things could be better.

But then he looked down and saw the ugly scar that ran up the length of his leg and he remembered.

Usually he remembered because of how much it hurt. He'd healed fairly well after his surgery, as well as could be expected for such a bad injury, but it still just hurt. He was told it would probably always hurt, in some way or another, but on the days that it didn't hurt he often forgot that one day it would. Today had been one of those days. He'd woken up to rain on his windows and a fierce pain in his leg and hip. He was stiff and when he stretched out his leg, it ached from his heel to his waist. It took him nearly an hour just to get out of bed and another to get through his morning routine of shower, brush teeth, clothes, coffee.

He _hurt_.

But he had a meeting with a doctor late that morning and then with some friends in the afternoon so he put on his Outside Face and muscled through the day. By late afternoon he wanted to die. He was legitimately ready to let the ground just consume him if it meant his leg stopped feeling like it was being perpetually eviscerated. He wondered if this is what the break would have felt like if he hadn't had the adrenaline to numb it at the time.

When he finally got home, he relented. He dug out Eric's card from where he'd stuffed it in his wallet and rang him up. He hadn't even said hello, only asked “do you know how to make chicken soup?” and when he'd gotten an affirmative he'd sent over his address.

Now Eric was chopping vegetables in his kitchen while Kent lay across the length of his couch. He had his arm thrown over his face and was trying to breathe through the slowly dulling pain in his leg. It wasn't gone completely but Bitty had come equipped with cold packs and that was helping some. In fact he'd come with a whole big bag of things but Kent was too busy wishing for death to really question its contents.

“Have you taken any meds today?” Bitty asked from the kitchen and Kent grunted his affirmative. “How much?”

Oh Kent didn't have the patience or the brain power for this kind of questioning. “Just the prescribed amount. You want to fucking check?” He snapped and immediately regretted the way his body was tensing up.

Bitty didn't say anything and Kent didn't care to look but after a moment he heard him step into the other room to make a phone call. After a few minutes he returned but didn't say anything, going to the collection of meds on his counter and pulling out a bottle. He poured out a pill, cut it in half with the little pill cutter, then offered it over to Kent with a small cup of water. “Take this.” He instructed.

Kent removed his arm but didn't take it right away, looking at it skeptically then turning that glare onto Bitty.

“I just spoke to your doctor. He said you could take more to manage the pain. This was his minimum amount recommendation.” His voice was even and his expression was patient, not rushing Kent as he hesitated in taking the pill.

Neither one had to spell out that Kent was nervous about taking more than what the bottle prescribed. He'd been open with Yvonne about his substance abuse and poor coping skills in the past. Getting addicted to painkillers was not an avenue he wanted to entertain in the slightest.

“You called Dr. Tanner?”

“Yes, and he cross confirmed with Dr. Klein.” He assured him.

Just take it, just take it, just fucking take it. Kent's mind was yelling at him, begging him for relief, but it was only with one last reassuring look from Bitty that Kent finally reached forward and accepted the half pill. He swallowed it with a mouthful of water then laid back down, arm draping back over his eyes.

“Does your head hurt?”

“... A little.” It did, a headache growing behind his eyes and around his jaw from the tension.

He heard the tap run in the kitchen before startling when Bitty slowly draped a cool wet cloth over his eyes and brow. “Just try and rest for a bit until the meds kick in. I'll close the blinds.” He did and the darkness along with the cool cloth immediately helped. He felt a little less like he had to put on a show, like he could stop pretending so much now that things were dim.

The repetitive sounds of Eric cutting vegetables lulled Kent further. He hadn't realized how much anxiety he felt by just trying to manage the little things. Eric hadn't done anything incredibly difficult for him, but the simple act of calling his doctors for him and making dinner for him was such a relief that Kent almost cried. It allowed him to focus on the bigger problem, on the very present pain in his leg, and less on all the other little things that compounded that one big stressor.

“Does your cat get one scoop or two for dinner, sugar?” Bitty asked from the kitchen. Was it really that late? Time was moving inconsistently for him today.

“Uhm, one, but you don’t- I can do that Eric. You don't have to feed Kit.” He started to sit up but found even that difficult. His body ached and the pain meds were making his head a little soft.

“It's okay Kent, really. Just stay laying down.” He felt just the lightest touch to his shoulder urging him back and he didn't bother resisting. It wasn't a hard fight to lose, to be honest. “And you can call me Bitty. Everyone does.”

“Okay. And uhm. Thanks- er, thank you. Bitty.” He readjusted the cloth over his eyes, and swallowed the sigh he felt trying to escape. “S-sorry…”

“You don't need to apologize, I promise. This is what I'm here for.”

Kent hadn't officially hired Eric - Bitty - yet and he felt guilty for asking him over before they'd agreed to anything but his guilt was far outweighed by his relief so he stayed quiet.

He could hear when Bitty dumped some food in Kit’s bowl and turned a little blindly towards her happy mew as she started eating. He'd completely forgotten about her dinner and the thought of getting up to get food for her made him shudder. He could have done it if he'd had to but having Bitty here to do it for him… well he was starting to see the appeal.

“So is this what you do for other people? Just wait on them hand and foot every day?” He asked, reaching up to pull the cloth off so he could look at the other.

“Sorry?”

“Uhm. Is this what you do for your other… clients? Employers? Whatever, the other people you assist. Do you just do chores for them? Are you just a glorified house maid?” Wow that sounded shitty. “No offense…”

Bitty gave him a look but smiled a little anyways. “No, not really. I'm not a maid or a butler, though I've done things for people before that might be classified as a maid or butler's work. Just think of me like a second set of hands around. If people are capable of doing things, they do it themselves. When they aren't, I help. And capable means both mentally and physically. Like… some people legitimately can't do things for themselves sometimes, like clean up a spill or get dressed. So I'll help them with those things. But mostly I find that usually people hire me when they have trouble managing everything happening in their lives. Half my time is spent making phone calls to be honest.”

Kent snorted and Bitty smiled.

And, well, wasn't that a sight.

“You like this?” Kent waved his hand in the direction of the other, indicating the cooking Bitty was doing but also just everything else.

“I do, yeah. I know it doesn't sound terribly glamorous, but helping people brings me a lot of satisfaction. Knowing I've helped ease someone's mind makes the other stuff less tedious.”

Kent was quiet after that and Bitty didn't press him to hold the conversation. He gave him a moment but when it was clear Kent didn't have anything more to say he went back to the soup he was making. Kent watched him quietly shred the chicken he'd boiled earlier, then add the egg noodles to finish it off. It was soothing watching the other, his experience around a kitchen clear in the sure and confident motions of his hands.

When the soup was done, Bitty brought two bowls over to the coffee table and helped Kent sit up so he could eat. “Does it ever get hard? For you I mean? Like, I can't imagine it's always fucking rainbows and sunshine with people dealing with stuff like…” he motioned to his leg.

“Sometimes it's hard.” Bitty admitted. Kent could tell Bitty was being honest, that answering candidly came natural to him. But he appreciated that Bitty also thought about what he was saying. He didn't just answer automatically. “There are times when I am dealing with my own battles, my own issues, and I don't do my job as well as I should. When that happens I try to just be honest with my clients so I don't disappoint them, or harm them more.”

“Has there ever been someone you couldn't work with?”

Bitty looked over as he blew on a spoonful of the soup. “A couple times. It's usually pretty clear if we just won't work well together. I imagine it's the same as trying to find a good therapist. When I was finding mine, I went through a couple before someone stuck.”

The fact that Eric went to therapy shocked Kent, and then he immediately felt guilty for it. He'd assumed he hadn't needed it. “Oh.” His face flushed immediately. He hadn't meant to be so transparent. “Sorry, I just- I wouldn't have thought-”

“Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes.” He said with a shrug and a kind smile and Kent fell quiet once again.

Bitty turned the TV on to some reality show and the two of them ate in companionable silence for awhile. When they were done, Bitty stood to do the dishes, but didn't protest (much) when Kent got up to help dry. His leg still hurt but the meds had kicked in and he no longer felt like he was going to throw up from being upright.

Bitty had made a double batch of soup so half went into the fridge as leftovers and the rest went into freezer for when Kent felt too lazy to cook. Neither of them brought up whether Kent was going to hire Bitty officially or not, even as Bitty was leaving. He helped Kent back to the couch, offered to stay longer, but departed with a small wave when Kent assured him he was alright now.

Kent knew he was going to hire him. Even if his surface level thoughts rejected the notion, deep down he knew that he needed this and that it was okay to need it. It didn't make him less of a man, or less of a person, and he reasoned that if he paid Bitty for his time and his energy, he wouldn't feel like he was taking advantage of his generosity. But he wanted just one more night to sleep on it, to let the relief settle, to clear his head before he committed.

 

_X_

 

“Do you want to meet with Sam today or would you prefer Wednesday?”

Kent looked up from where he was massaging cream around his scar to Bitty who had set up at his rarely used kitchen table. It was where he normally made camp when he came over for a long day of planning and Kent smiled at the fact that he could only see a bit of Eric's blond hair over the top of his MacBook screen. “Uhm, today is fine I guess.”

Bitty pulled the screen down some to look over to him, eyes narrowed. “Kent.” They'd come to an arrangement nearly five weeks ago, Kent paying Bitty to come over three times a week to help him manage his schedule and plan goals with his doctors and therapists that he could work towards in the future. They started slow but once they'd gotten comfortable with each other, Bitty stopped pussy-footing around Kent and was more forward in his demands for honesty.

This week he was on a “tell me what you actually want” kick and when he could tell Kent was deflecting or giving in he pushed back. When he'd first started it had been like pulling teeth to get Kent to admit when he did or didn't want something. He'd have to needle and prod until Kent gave in and told him the truth. Now he just had to give Kent this one look. Kent knew there was no point in fighting but at the same time, he felt like being a little shit.

“Bitty.”

“Kenneth.”

“Bits.”

“Kensworth.”

“That's not even my name!” Kent said with a laughed and only rolled his eyes a little at the triumphant grin that spread across Bitty's face.

“So Wednesday.”

“Yeah. Wednesday is probably better.” He finally admitted. His leg was aching a bit today and he didn't feel like going in to talk to anyone, let alone the new physical therapist he'd be seeing twice a week.

Bitty nodded and pushed his screen back up, fingers flying rapidly over his keys. “Alright, we'll go see Sam on Wednesday then.” Oh, and yeah. Bitty had been accompanying Kent to a lot of his appointments. At first it was just to keep schedules in order, but now there was just an unspoken agreement that Bitty would go with. He generally just sat out in the waiting room while Kent met with whomever he was scheduled to see, his therapist or trainer or agent. Sometimes he would work on things for Kent, sometimes for other clients, or sometimes he would just scroll through his phone and read.

It was a comfort Kent hadn't realized he could have knowing he had someone out there waiting for him, even if it was just a friend.

Or employee.

Or person from Kent's past.

He didn't really know how to classify Bitty. Friend felt wrong given their arrangement but employee felt lacking given their history. They never much talked about it though, and they both especially avoided the topic of Jack, so Kent was left in a bit of limbo when describing his relationship with the other. He hoped they were friends. Or at least something close.

Fact of the matter was that Kent didn't have a huge amount of those to spare. He had a couple of guys from the team that he still talked to, whose families he knew well. But the majority of his teammates were just that - teammates - and weren't the kind to keep in touch now that he was off the team. He had a few friends outside of them but they'd stopped knowing how to behave around him now that he frequently used a cane and often had to bow out of plans because his leg hurt too much.

There was Jack but then there also wasn't. And there was Yvonne but how pathetic did you have to be to count your therapist as one of your friends. He had his sister but she lived in Jersey. Beyond them, he really didn't have anyone.

Until Bitty.

Hopefully Bitty.

“.....hey Bits?” He had to know. Now that he was thinking about it, he had to know. Bitty made a noise to indicate he was listening but didn't look up from the screen. That was alright. It would make asking this dumb question easier if Kent didn't have to look him in the eye. “Uhm, are we… uhm. Are we friends?”

He was looking at his hands but in his peripherals he could see Bitty looking up. “What? Of course we're friends, sweetheart.” He pushed the laptop aside and stood, moving over to sit next to the other. When Kent met his eyes, he was surprised to see concern. “Do you… were you unsure of that?”

Kent laced his fingers to keep the nervous shake from making itself known. This question had been bothering him for awhile, apparently. “No, uhm, no, of course not. But I guess - I mean, I was thinking about just… well this is your job right? And I just was thinking, that like, uhm…”

“That I was only being friendly because you're payin’ me to be friendly?” Kent nodded and looked over to him again. “Kent, this ain't just a job for me, I promise. I know… I know that's hard to believe sometimes, to separate our contract from everything else but I promise that I am your friend. I care about you.”

Kent wouldn't meet his eyes, and found it harder to accept his words at face value. He was paying Bitty an enormous amount of money to do all this for him. If he were in Bitty's shoes and charged as much as he did, he would have gotten really good at pretending too. Kent didn't doubt that _some_ part of Bitty cared, he just didn't entirely accept that Bitty was also his friend, even if he really wanted it.

Just as he was convincing himself that there was no way Bitty was being honest, he felt a hand slip to the back of his neck. He looked up to find Bitty closer, his face serious and earnest in its open expression. “Kent.” His voice was pitched low and Kent shivered. “I am your friend. I care about you.” He said both forcefully, his thumb swiping through the hair at the nape of Kent's neck as if to emphasize his point. “You deserve friends.” His hand tightened. “You deserve people who care about you. You have both of those things from me.”

Kent's mouth was dry. This was a really bad time to get turned on because the tightness in his throat also meant he was feeling gushy, but what could he do. Bitty's eyes were dark today, a deep cocoa color, and when he spoke with emotion, the muscles in his jaw and neck clenched, drawing Kent's eyes down a path they didn't need to be going. This close, Kent could smell his shampoo, could feel the natural heat Bitty radiated now that he lived in a climate more suitable for him.

This close, Kent wanted nothing more than to close the distance.

But he couldn't do that. Because while Bitty might be his friend - and okay, he was feeling more secure with that cleared up - he was also being paid to work for him and somewhere at least a line had to be drawn. Kent wasn't even sure if what he was feeling for the other was a fucked up sort of caretakers affection and that if he hadn't gotten injured and hadn't hired Bitty that he would even feel any of this at all.

Sure, Bitty was hot. And funny. And athletic and sweet and funny and fiery and comfortable and generous. But who's to say Kent would be attracted to any of that if the situation were different. Bitty wasn't even Kent's type. There's no way Kent would feel anything for him if he hadn't gotten hurt. No way. This was just residual from Kent feeling lonely. That's all.

Right?

“Kenny?” Oh _fuck._  “You believe me right?” Bitty looked worried now and that was no good.

Leaning forward, Kent rest his forehead to the others and nodded. “Yeah, Bits, I believe you. Sorry, just… caught up in my head is all.” His voice was low now too but he'd already closed his eyes so he didn't know how Bitty was reacting.

“Alright.” Bitty's hand slid down his neck to wrap an arm around his shoulders. He spoke again as he gave Kent a small squeeze. “Want me to make you something to eat before I head out?”

Kent pulled back and had to take a breath before he could speak. “Uhm. Yes- no. I mean.” His brain was all asunder, neurons firing mixed signals and unhelpful suggestions that were making it hard to concentrate on what Bitty had just asked him. “No, I was thinking we could order in instead? If you don't mind hanging around for awhile?”

There was a pause wherein Kent worried he'd pushed too hard past the professional boundaries but then Bitty was smiling and nodding. “Of course. You feel up for schwarma?”

Kent couldn't do anything more than return the smile, his shoulder relaxing in relief. “Yeah Bits, that sounds great.”

 

_X_

 

Nothing anyone could have told him would have prepared him for being friends with Eric Bittle and that was the gods honest truth. Kent didn't pay him for half the stuff he did which meant he was thoroughly convinced that yes, Bitty was his friend, and yes, that came with some really awesome benefits.

Namely pie.

And really good trashy tv.

Kent knew the lines of their arrangement were being blurred but he found himself hard pressed to care. Somewhere around month three, Bitty had been given a key to Kent's apartment and by month four, he was inviting himself over. He was still an excellent PA but he also felt like _more_ and Kent feared that if he asked about that too much then _more_ would turn into _less_.

Because the truth of the matter was that Kent felt happier these past few months than he had before his accident. He'd been an ugly man for many years before his injury, full of anger and jealousy and resentment, issues he was just starting to work through with Yvonne. The injury only exacerbated the depression and brought to light the dismal coping skills Kent already knew he had.

He'd been in a bad place, a real bad place, before he'd met Bitty. He was angry, at himself, at the world, and without his therapist and without Bitty attaching himself to his life, he wasn't entirely sure he'd still be alive right now to enjoy it.

But here he was. Thriving. Or at least trying to.

Most days he was doing what he would qualify as better. He wasn't always mobile which was a bummer. Some mornings he woke up to find either the pain was too unbearable or his leg was just uncooperative and so he'd shoot Bitty a text and more often than not the other would show up on his doorstep with really greasy takeout and some romcoms queued up on his Netflix - which Bitty had the password to, of course.

He was also allowing himself to branch out of his comfort zone. Just this last month he'd started a small summer mentorship program with the local youth league. Bitty had convinced him to do it, encouraging him to participate in the community and helping him understand that he could still have a relationship with hockey even if he wasn't able to play it anymore. Occasionally they would discuss sledge hockey but for the most part Kent stayed away from that, not ready to commit to that yet.

He'd met with the youth league twice now and though it was hard for him to be near a rink he couldn't skate on himself, he found the kids looked to him eagerly for guidance, a fact he, frankly, found surprising.

Initially he'd argued with Bitty about this, wondering what kind of mentor he could be if he couldn't play anymore but Bitty had insisted that he was more than his body, and that he had been an amazing player and captain and it had nothing to do with his physique. He wouldn't be the first retired athlete to coach kids, nor would he be the first one who also couldn't actively play the sport they'd been famous for. He wasn't a novelty and he had to stop thinking about himself that way.

And some part of him took comfort in that fact. On his bad days he resented how that could make him feel like Bitty was diminishing what had happened to him, but for the most part it meant he didn't have to live up to anything necessarily. Vegas had bred in him this idea that everything he did had to be a performance. That if he was going to be a disabled athlete or retired athlete then he had to be the most disabled or the most retired one out there, that he had to be an icon, a figure who represented a community that he'd never been a part of before.

But Bitty showed him that that wasn't the case. He _could_ be involved in those organizations if he wanted but just as easily he could not. He didn't have to shoulder the burden of representation or positivity. All he had to do was be Kent Parson, former captain of the three time Stanley Cup winning Las Vegas Aces. His experiences, his struggles, his recovery didn't have to define him and more often than not the people he surrounded himself with would see beyond all that anyways.

When he'd shown up to the first lesson with the kids, the only thing they'd asked about was if they could see his scar. And once they were properly grossed out, they went right into drills as if nothing was weird at all. He struggled to understand how to coach from the sidelines when he couldn't join them on the ice, but the challenge was a welcome reprieve from his now daily struggles with everything else. He left exhausted, and his leg had been killing him from moving around more than he probably should, but satisfaction had wound itself into his lungs and he knew he'd be coming back.

He didn't even mind the smug look on Bitty's face after he'd gushed about how amazing the whole experience had been.

Bitty becoming a constant in his life was the biggest surprise though. When he'd hired him, they'd agreed on three times a week. Bitty would manage his daily scheduling, make sure he got to all his appointments on time, and would occasionally cook when Kent was particularly exhausted or needed him to help prepare healthier meals that would last him through the week. Those conditions lasted a laughably short amount of time and before Kent knew it, Bitty was coming by nearly every day.

Sometimes he would come over to work on Kent's stuff - his schedules, his media blurbs, his newly revived social media accounts. But sometimes he came over to work on other clients things, or to try out new recipes he was working on, or just to hang out. When Kent was particularly worn out, Bitty would come over to just sit with him in the dim lighting, scrolling through his phone with his knee pressed to the other just to remind him he was there.

He felt very lucky to have Bitty in his life. They still never talked about what had happened between Bitty and Jack, nor Kent's relationship with Jack, but Kent felt that he had been an idiot to let Bitty out of his life. Now that Kent had seen the best (and at times, the worst) in the other, he couldn't imagine his life without Eric Bittle in it.

Which led him to the not-at-all-surprising realization that he was maybe a little bit in love with Bitty.

No one could really blame him, though. If they knew Bitty half as well as Kent did, then they'd be pretty head over heels for him as well. Kent was actually proud that he hadn't confessed all this to the other already, pleased that he could remain calm, cool, and collected around him when all he generally wanted to do was hoist him up on the counter and make him come undone.

He'd almost brought it up to Yvonne in their last session when she'd asked how he was getting along but he felt that that discussion would lead to a confrontation with some truths that Kent wasn't ready to face and so he'd kept his mouth shut and let her take the conversation somewhere else. Kent saved his crises for when he was alone, thank you very much. Which wasn't as often as it used to be, a fact for which he was incredibly grateful.

That night, he and Bitty were watching a Say Yes to the Dress marathon, lazily eating takeaway dumplings while Bitty complained about how expensive the dresses were in New York. “There is no reason she needs that much lace on that bodice! Look at it, it's practically _sheer_. And she wants to have a traditional wedding? Well bless her heart but-” then Bitty stuffed a dumpling in his mouth and Kent couldn't understand anything more.

“She needs all the lace because she has a thirteen thousand dollar budget and that dress is only eleven.” Kent replied, reaching over to drop one of his steamed buns onto Bitty's plate in exchange for one of the others fried dumplings. “Don't you understand how hard that is for her, Bits? To not spend all the money her weird orange fiance gave her for her dress? Have some empathy-ow!” Kent laughed as he flinched away from Bitty pinching him with his chopsticks. He laughed louder and only barely managed to set his plate down before Bitty lunged again.

“This is abuse! I can't move fast enough and you know it!” He cried between guffaws, wrapping his arms around his head to block the chopstick that were trying to pinch his cheeks.

“I am way too good to you to be shouting abuse, mister.” Bitty replied with his own laugh, crawling over Kent to try and sneak his chopsticks under his arms. “Now admit that that lace is ridiculous and that she should have gone with dress one.”

“Never! You heard her, Bits. She was _born_ to wear that dress- hey ow!” Bitty had caught his nostril and Kent has to uncover his arms, to both keep Bitty from falling off him, and to keep from getting a new chopstick sized piercing. “Alright alright! I give, okay? You're right.” He was half twisted on his back and side, his leg a bit irritated from being crawled on.

But Bitty had been careful even in his roughhousing and he now sat perched higher on Kent's hips with his hands pressed to Kent's chest, cheeks flushed and smile triumphant. “Damn right I'm right.” He said with a sharp nod of his head. “My mama didn't raise no scab who knew nothing about proper wedding attire.”

Kent laughed unevenly, his heart beating rapidly from so much more than their fight. He knew it was a bad idea while he was doing it but he couldn't stop his hands from coming to rest first on Bitty's hips, then sliding to stop atop his folded thighs. “You're right about that other thing, too, you know? You are too good to me…”

He watched while Bitty's adams apple bobbed as he swallowed, the flush on his cheeks deepening. For a moment, Kent worried he would run away, that maybe Kent had pushed too much, that this had crossed past the neutral blurred lines of their relationship. But Bitty didn't flee. Instead he wet his lips with a dart of his tongue and pressed a touch more on his hands. “You deserve someone to be good to you Kent…” he murmured, holding his gaze even as a tremble ran through his legs, making them tighten around Kent's hips.

His hands slid up and under Bitty's shirt, brave in a way he normally wasn't, emboldened by the fact that Bitty wasn't pulling away. He let his hands stop just above the waistband of his jeans, able to feel the warm, soft skin of his sides under his hands. “So do you Bits… fuck, you deserve so much…”

Bitty was leaning in a little closer, muscles shaking as he moved his hands to either side of Kent's face. “Do I deserve you, Kenny?”

And Kent's brain just stopped. It happened so fast, Kent was surprised there weren't sound effects. He wanted to open his mouth and answer, to beg Bitty to take what he had to give, to show him that Kent could give him everything he deserved. But try as he might he couldn't make his body cooperate. And it wasn't hard to figure out why.

Kent couldn't say any of that because he didn't actually believe it.

His hesitation didn't go unseen and when he didn't answer right away, Bitty pulled back to read his expression. He must have read it wrong, however, because suddenly his face was scarlet and he was trying to pull away from Kent as fast as he could without hurting his leg. “Oh lord, oh Kent I'm so sorry. I overstepped and I- I'm so so sorry. This is so, this was so- I am so sorry for being so unprofessional.”

And then he was standing, and Kent was struggling to sit up and his mouth was _still_ not cooperating with him so he couldn't call out to stop Bitty as he gathered his stuff and fled the apartment. Kent couldn't get to his cane fast enough to rush after him and by the time he was able to hobble out to the hallway, Bitty was  gone.

“Fuck, fuck Bits-, come back…” he whimpered, chest heaving from the effort of moving so fast.

But Bitty was gone and Kent was terrified he'd fucked this all up beyond repair.

 

_X_

 

He saw hide nor hair of the other for an entire week. He got emails occasionally about his schedule or about something he was going to post, but only things that were strictly professional. And he didn't see Bitty himself. He'd even gone to his appointment with Sam, his new physical therapist, but Bitty had texted at the last minute to say he couldn't make it due to an emergency.

Kent had asked what had happened but Bitty didn't elaborate. It wasn't hard to recognize a hint when he saw one so he backed off and tried to pretend that it wasn't eating him up inside.

Except it was. It was killing him to not have Bitty around. He was still an acceptable PA, kept up with the duties they'd agreed on months ago, but it felt so inadequate in the face of what Kent knew he could otherwise have. It had only been a few days and Kent could already feel the other's absence.

But what was he supposed to do? Bitty was making it clear that he wanted to keep things professional, that he was sorry for whatever boundary they'd crossed the night before. Kent had assumed at first that it was just miscommunication but the longer Bitty stayed away, the more Kent doubted that assumption. Had he really read the situation _that_ poorly? Had he projected his own desires onto the other, thinking he saw things there that weren't actually present?

He didn't know. And not knowing was doing bad things for his anxiety. Having Bitty in his life had been a pleasure and now that he was gone, he felt like he'd lost months of forward progress. Sure, his mobility was a bit better and the pain management was further along, but emotionally he was crashing.

Which made him feel _even_ worse because he couldn't lay his emotional stability at another's feet. It wasn't Bitty's responsibility to make sure he was stable or happy. It was his own. It was just that Bitty had made it _easier_. Bitty made him laugh, made him smile, reminded him that he could be happy even though his life had changed so much. He brought sunshine into Kent's life and Kent was struggling to remember how to do that on his own.

He was scared that without Bitty, he wouldn't be able to do it. That Bitty had become a crutch onto which Kent leaned for support. He was scared that all the progress he thought he'd made these past few months had only been due to Bitty and now that he was gone, Kent would slip backwards. And this fear of falling behind, of losing his footing, was making his depression spike to the point where he had to call in an emergency session with Yvonne.

It was four pm on a Sunday and he was sitting in her office, twisting the top of his cane to keep himself from pacing. It would only aggravate his leg. He couldn't meet her eyes but he knew what her expression was. He knew she was worried and frankly he would be worried too. He hadn't had to call one of these sessions in a long time and to have one now was both unexpected and alarming.

“I’m- I'm sorry for calling the middle of dinner, pulling you away from Kate but I- I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.” He bent a bit at the waist and pressed his forehead to the top of his cane, pushing until it hurt.

“Kent, look at me. Talk to me, what happened. How did you fuck up?”

He sucked in a harsh breath and looked up to her, but couldn't hold it for long before he was quickly looking away. “I tried, I tried so hard because I didn't know if it was anything other than like… survivor's guilt? No that's not the right word, fuck. I don't know what the fuck to call it. But I didn't want it to happen but it did anyways and I fucked up with everything.”

Yvonne was startled, reaching forward to grab his hand in an effort to ground him, to calm him. “Kent. What. Happened?” She said forcefully, making him look up. “Did someone get hurt? Did you hurt yourself?”

He shook his head, closing his eyes tight and trying to control his breathing. He was making a scene, he knew he was, but this had been building and he was scared and upset and angry and hurt so now it was all just bubbling over. “No, no I didn't hurt myself.” He understood her concern, though. He always flirted with suicidal ideation but it hadn't ever been bad enough to actually go through with it.

“Did you hurt someone else?”

He squeezed her hands a little and nodded. “I think so.” His voice was low and she had to bend a bit closer towards him to hear. “I hurt Bits- Eric. I think I… I didn't mean to.”

Her jaw tensed and she ducked her head to try and catch his eyes. “Kent, I need you to tell me what you did. I can't help you if you don't talk to me. What happened, what did you do?”

“I'm so stupid.” It was so hard to say out loud because it felt too big and too inconsequential at the same time. He was making a huge deal out of it, out of what had happened, when she would probably just laugh at him for it. But it was eating him up, consuming him from the inside, and he had to tell her. He needed her help.

“I fell in love with Eric? And we almost, uhm. We almost did stuff, last time he was over. I think I pushed too much. I think I overstepped…”

To her credit, Yvonne didn't dismiss what he was telling her. She relaxed a fraction because, yeah, she'd thought he'd actually physically hurt someone, but she didn't write off what he was telling her as stupid. He knew she wouldn't, she was his therapist and he had to trust her to take his emotions seriously, but a small part of him still murmured traitorously in the back of his mind.

“Did you… force yourself on him?” She asked him carefully.

He shook his head immediately. “No, no it wasn't anything like that. It was just… he'd come over to hang out and we were fooling around - not like that though, just like… being stupid. And then it went a little far and I almost… I thought he was going to too, but then I kind of panicked and then he was panicking and then he just… left.” He finally looked up to her. “I fucked up, Yvonne. I didn't mean to, I just care so much about him and I thought he was maybe feeling the same way but then he just _left_ and now he won't even fucking come over and it's just- I don't want to lose him.”

She finally sat back and he let out a heaving breath, hands coming up to rub over his face. He felt exhausted, finally admitting that, finally telling someone all the stuff he'd been holding inside him this past week. He didn't know if she would be able to help but just being able to say the words - that he loved Bitty - well that in and of itself was a weight off his shoulders.

“Did you ever feel uncomfortable with the closeness that developed between the two of you? Was there ever a time when you didn't like that it was moving past professional and into something else?” She was pulling out her notepad and starting to write and he relaxed now that they were in more familiar territory. It didn't make the questions any easier to confront, but at least this was a system he was familiar with.

“No. And I never felt like Bitty stepped out of line. We just… we grew close. We were friends.”

“You said you fell in love with him. Does it feel like you _have_ love for him or that you are _in_ love with him?”

“... Both? No, uhm, I don't know I guess. I was pretty sure I was in love with him. I AM pretty sure. This week has been fucking terrible and sure, maybe part of it was because he takes care of things for me and makes life easier but I also like… like his laugh? And his stupid bowties that he wears on Sundays? And I don't think that has anything to do with the services he provides.”

She smiled a little and shook her head but still scribbled something in her notes. “Alright. So you're in love with Eric.” She dropped her hands on her notepad and looked up. Kent felt for a moment like he was under a microscope but he tried not to let it bother him. Instead he allowed her words to sink in. Sure, he'd acknowledged that he was in love with Bitty in his own mind, but now that he'd voiced it aloud and had it spoken back, it sat heavier in his bones. But not in an altogether bad way.

He found he kind of liked the pressure of them there.

“Yes. I'm in love with Eric.” He parroted back. “And we almost kissed. But then he said something that kind of freaked me out and since then, he won't even come around me.”

“Do you remember what he said?”

He did, not only because it echoed the voice of a ghost from his past, but also because it had shaken him. “He asked if he deserves me…”

“And how did that make you feel?” He snorted in response to her predictable question, making her roll her eyes. “Alright, alright. Why do you think that question scared you so much?”

Here, he could only shrug.

“Do you think it's because you think he doesn't deserve you?”

“No, it's just…”

“Do you think he deserves more than you can give him?”

“I think he deserves better than me in general.” He finally said it out loud, the real fear that had been eating at him. He loved Bitty, but Bitty was so far out of his league he didn't know how he could compare. All he had to offer was money and a lot of baggage and he knew Bitty was better than that.

Yvonne looked him over then set her notebook aside. “I'm going to tell you facts. And I know you won't believe them right now but I want you to take them home with you and just get used to how they sound out loud, okay?” he nodded, even though it was making him nervous. “You deserve love.” She ignored the way he rolled his eyes. “You deserve love, that's fact number one. Fact number two, you are worthy of a healthy and happy relationship. You deserve a healthy and happy relationship.”

It was impossible for him to sit still through this so he wrapped his arms across his chest and gripped his upper arms.

“Fact number three. Your past transgressions do not disqualify you from future happiness. You deserve to be happy even if you've done things wrong in the past.”

“I don't deserve _him_ though.” He insisted.

“Perhaps.” Her voice was kind even while it was firm, impressing upon him the truth in her words. “People are complicated, Kent. Eric, I'm sure, would agree. It won't do you any good to put him on a pedestal and when you are able to stop doing that, you'll see he's human. Just like you. He has his bad days, his ugly days, his rough days, just like you. And so by your reasoning, if he deserves so much, then so do you.”

“What if I mess it all up?”

“Oh, you will mess some things up. Everyone messes up. You just have to make sure that when you do you try and make up for it. And learn not to do it again.”

He nodded, fingers curling tighter into the fabric of his shirt. “He can't be my PA anymore…”

“No, you're right, this probably complicates things.” She agreed, with a small laugh. “And I don't know if it's a good idea in general either. It could be good, or it could be bad, I don't know either way.”

“So should I-”

“I don't know.”

“But he might-”

“I don't know. Honestly Kent, I don't know. And even if I did, it isn't really my decision to make. It's yours. And I think you're more than capable of handling this, of deciding the right path, all on your own.” She smiled for him now, a gentle thing. “And if it doesn't work out, or if it gets to be too much, just remember I'm here for you. Whenever you need my help.”

He was quiet as he mulled over her words, allowing them to settle over his mind like a weighted blanket. They soothed him, put some of his fears to rest, and her confidence in his capability reminded him that he HAD made progress and that yes, he could do this. “You know… you're pretty smart sometimes.”

She chuckled and nodded, patting his shoulder. “Kate said the same thing earlier today. I guess it's all those books I read.”

“Thank you, Yvonne. For uhm… listening. And helping me.”

“You're welcome, Kent. Did you need anything else?”

“.... Can I get a hug?”

She laughed and stood. “Of course. Come here.”

 

_X_

 

**> > can we talk?**

**> > i think we need to**

**> > in person**

Finding the courage to send those texts had been Kent's challenge of the day. He'd rewritten them many times over, trying for different tones, before landing on this. It was straightforward. It didn't imply anything beyond what it was. When he tried for flippant or joking, it felt disingenuous. When he tried for angry or confrontational, he found he didn't have the conviction in him to back it up. Because he wasn't any of those things. This was serious for him, important, so treating it as no big deal was out of the question.

Because it was a big deal.

And he wasn't angry, not anymore. He understood that the situation was complicated. He might have been hurt, but he wasn't angry. What he was, though, was unwilling. He was unwilling to let what they'd created dissolve away into miscommunication and squandered potential. He was unwilling to let Bitty walk away without at least being honest with him. He was unwilling to let all this go without at least putting up some sort of fight.

So he rewrote the text many times over before he settled on what he'd sent. It was direct. They needed to talk. He didn't bother elaborating on what because that would be insulting to them both. They knew what they needed to talk about, he only hoped Bitty would accept his request.

He didn't respond right away and Kent had to remind himself a few times to be patient and give Bitty the time and space he obviously required. If Kent was as torn up about all this as he was, he could imagine Bitty was in a similar position. He wasn't so self loathing to think that he didn't have some sort of impact on the other, even if it was fractional in comparison to Bitty's impact on him.

**> > okay**

**> > need me to come over?**

It came hours later, when Kent was dozing on his couch. The chime made him sit up quickly, grabbing for his cane to get the phone from where he had it plugged in charging. He'd turned the volume up so he didn't miss the text notification and now that he was staring at the texts he felt like his heart might beat itself out of his chest. His first inclination was to tell Bitty that no, he would go over to his house - because that would be the polite thing to do so Bitty didn't have to be the one to leave if things went South - but the idea of calling an Uber to take him over and the potential that he would need to call another to take him back convinced him to be a bit selfish.

Bitty could drive. He would be able to make a dramatic exit faster than Kent could.

**> > if thats ok?**

He hesitated to write more but stopped when he saw Bitty was typing.

**> > yeah thats fine. ill be over in twenty.**

Now he just had to wait, which was a miserable experience in and of itself. He was convinced that Bitty would change his mind halfway through and go back home and that, in turn, led him to a mini panic attack which lasted until he heard a knock at his door. He'd been standing in the middle of his living room since he'd sent the text and he looked down at himself to make sure what he was wearing didn't make him look like an idiot. It did, he was wearing boxers and a long sleeved Aces shirt with uneven socks on his feet, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Seeing Bitty's face upon opening the door did something to his heart that he didn't have the time to unravel right now. He was beautiful, standing there in the dim lighting from the hallway and Kent was reminded all over again that what he was feeling was genuine and worth the anxiety he was having if he had even a sliver of a chance with this man.

“Hey….” Kent whispered. Bitty looked as tired as he probably did but at the sound of his voice the other smiled. It was small, tentative, as if Bitty was holding it back.

“Hey yourself.”

“Come in, come in… fucking, standing out in the hallway like a stranger-”

“-oh well I wasn't sure if I-”

“-what do you mean of course-”

“-sorry, okay, I'm just being silly.”

The two talked over each other awkwardly while Kent shut the door and it wasn't until Bitty cast his eyes down the Kent closed his mouth. He wanted to touch the other, his own hand aching to reach forward and hold Bitty's. Their relationship had nearly always been tactile, touching shoulders, resting knees, just their personal bubbles existing within the others. Having this hesitancy between them felt wrong and gave Kent all the more motivation to correct it if he could.

“Did you call me over to fire me?” Bitty’s voice was small as he asked his question. He lifted his head to face the truth and Kent was proud of the courage he doubted he had within himself. He's not sure he could have brought himself over to Bitty's place if he even considered that Bitty was going to quit for real.

“What? No- not, no that's not my intention?” He huffed because he should have realized that was what this looked like and now that he hadn't, he felt even more moronic. “Sorry, no, just- can we sit down? My leg is- its-”

He felt a hand slide into his own and his breath caught in his chest. He looked down to see Bitty lightly holding his hand, small in comparison but strong from years of hockey and baking. Bitty tugged and Kent could only follow, limping slowly until they both dropped down to the couch. Bitty wasn't as far away from him as he had expected and that little fact gave him hope.

“Okay. Okay I'm going to try and, uhm, be as- fuck. As I don't know, honest? As frank as I can be? I just, I fucking hate having to try and guess about people and take hints and just, I hate it. And I don't want that with you. I just want- I want us to be open…”

Bitty still looked nervous but he was also still holding Kent's hand so that had to count for something.

“Okay. Do you… do you need me to stay quiet?” He ran his thumb over Kent's knuckles, and Kent shivered.

“Uhm, yeah, at least until I can…. Until I can say everything? I just- I need to do it all in one go.” He waited but Bitty only nodded his head to encourage him to go on. “Alright… alright.” A deep breath in. “I-” Fuck, stumbling already. But no, he could do this. “I think I love you.” There, hard part was over. “I mean. I think it's more than think. I'm pretty fucking sure I love you. And not just like… love you. But like _love love_ you. As in I love you Eric. As in… I'm in love with you.”

Wide brown eyes stared at him and Bitty's hand was now slack in his own. “...oh.”

“Yeah, and so like. It complicates things? I know it does. I know it makes things hard. And so maybe I was lying when I said I wasn't going to fire you. Because I might. But only! Only because I want to date you. And I don't think you should mix business and romance because that shit is like oil and water or whatever. And I kind of want to go on dates with you more than I want you to keep track of my schedule.”

The hardest part was over. Kent had said the important bit, the I love you bit, and now felt a sense of relief was over him. It was out of his hands. It was the same feeling he got when they played the last game of the season before playoffs and were just waiting to see where everyone else fell in the bracket. He couldn't do anything now except wait.

But Bitty wasn't saying anything and the silence was making him nervous so he overcompensated, filling the heavy shift between them with his own voice. “I know… I know I'm kind of a mess? Like I can't really walk all the time and I'm an addict and sometimes I slip up and like… there's Jack and I'm only kind of out and I have a temper sometimes and my mom never likes my boyfriend's but I just… I really like you Bits and I know I don't have a lot to give all the time but sometimes I think I'd be worth the effort and I'll do whatever- I'll just do my best to be good enough- to uhm, to be a good boyfriend if you'll have me.”

The silence lingered and his heart rate picked up.

“But like if this is totally weird I understand you know? Like you probably have clients falling all over themselves for you and I don't want to make you uncomfortable or unsafe or whatever and like I get it if you want to quit or you want me to fire you but it just, it didn't feel like that when we almost- the other day you know, when you, when we. Anyways, yeah so it didn't feel one sided but I'm also fucking stupid and I just don't know and now you're not saying anything and please, fuck, just please say something.”

More silence.

Except when Kent started pulling his hand away, he felt Bitty pull it back.

“Wait.” He gasped, finally meeting Kent's eyes. Bitty's were huge, filled with wonder or awe or something else that Kent couldn't recognize. What he could see was that it wasn't bad. He didn't know what that expression entirely meant but even he could see it wasn't bad.

So he waited.

“I-” he paused, struggling for words in a way Kent had never seen before. “I quit.”

Wait, what? “B-bits?”

But Bitty was laughing, a sort of far away noise, his eyes unfocused on the other. “I quit. I quit or you fire me or whatever I don't really care! Because I think I love you too?” When Kent felt Bitty's gaze refocus and turn to him, something in his chest ignited and he laughed along with the other. “I love you Kent Parson. And I think I'm _in_ love with you. And it's crazy because we fucked up _so bad_ but it doesn't matter right now. I quit and I love you.”

Kent couldn't hold back any longer. He reached up to slip a hand behind Bitty's head then pulled him forward into a kiss. It was messy, uncoordinated, all teeth and mismatched lips but there was laughter passing between them and Bitty was crawling forward and Kent was falling back and his head was dizzy and heart was full and he never wanted to let go.

 

_X_

 

“Arty wants you to come in on Thursday for some extra PT. Think you'll be up for it?”

Kent and Bitty have been dating, officially, for seven months now.

“Ugh, do I have to? We were going to catch up on Top Chef that night.”

Kent liked to joke it was unofficially longer than that but Bitty refused to count those first few weeks because, quote “you were paying me money, Mr. Parson, and I refuse to be a bought man.”

“I think you should. You slacked last week saying you were too tired when we both know it was just because you refused to let me untie your arms from the bed.”

Bitty still helped with his scheduling and he still cooked dinner for him, but it was traded off for Kent doing his laundry and making sure he didn't forget his keys in the morning.

“Hey now, you're the one who fucked me until I couldn't see color anymore.”

Living together had been a lot easier to manage than either of them had expected and waking up to Bitty in his bed every morning was a delight he couldn't fathom being without.

“You're the one who asked for it. Like, explicitly, if I remember correctly. Please Bits, Bitty, Eric, love of my life, fuck me so hard that you have to gag me so the neighbors don't call the cops again. Please oh please, I've been so good.”

Yeah, that actually happened.

“Objection your honor. I don't think I could have said any of that given that your dick was all the way down my throat at the time.”

They fought sometimes, like any couple. And they were only half public, not hiding but not professing. It was a quiet love.

“Mmm you do take it impressively well.”

And a little filthy.

“Damn right, babe. How about we go see _just_ how well I can take it.”

But that was okay. They had each other and they had love and that was enough for them both in the end.

“Sure, lemme just tell Arty that we’ll see them Thursday because you gotta do better than that to get one past me, Kenny.”

“No! I thought I had you! But alas, the infamous Eric Bittle cannot be bamboozled. I guess I'll have to find other methods of drawing your attention...”

“Bring it on, my love.”

“With pleasure.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Injury: Kent suffers a debilitating leg injury that is explained in some detail. If you wish to skip, stop reading at "Seriously , fuck him." And start again at "He'd been put on medication for t he pain management,"
> 
> Suicidal Ideation/Depression: in this fic Kent suffers from both anxiety and depression and thinks about self harm and not existing a few times, though he never acts on these thoughts.
> 
> If I missed any other possible triggers for people, please let me know! I want everyone to feel comfortable reading this fic.
> 
> -
> 
> Ahh! So this is my prompt fill for the 2017 Kent Parson Birthday Bash and I have to admit I'm really proud of it. It got away from me, nearly 13k more words than I was expecting, but I really wanted to take the time to explore Kent's character and how he would grow beyond being the captain of the Aces. 
> 
> The prompt was vague which gave me the freedom to explore. The only request was to keep it as in canon as possible. I hope I did the prompt justice, even if I skirted around addressing some issues -coughJackcough- I'm leaving it open for if I want to dive back into this universe.
> 
> Kent's physial recovery from the injury follows what I remember from my mother when she broke her leg, though only in a timeline sense. I did my best to stick to what I felt was a believable oucome fro such a bad injury. If anything is just too unbelievable, though, please let me know!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and, oh yeah, Happy Birthday Kenny P!


End file.
